


Three Stripes, a Muffin Top, and Those Pink Shoes

by MaesterChill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Hugo Weasley/Harry Potter, Aging Worries, Anal Sex, Angst, Anthony Fucking Goldstein, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Crime against a Buxus, Draco in Heels, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Fluff, HP Drizzle Fest 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Impotence, M/M, Minor Hugo Weasley/Anthony Goldstein, Model!Draco, Pool Party, Retired!Harry, Rimming, Tattoos, Unreasonable Amounts of Come, accidental infidelity, cocktails, swimwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill
Summary: It’s the hottest day anyone can remember. It's also Draco's 45th birthday and Harry has thrown him a pool party. Everyone’s feeling the heat. Well, everyone except for Harry.Something and someone are making things complicated. Somethingsoftand someonehard.





	Three Stripes, a Muffin Top, and Those Pink Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so the tags say 'accidental infidelity', but I **promise** it's completely unintentional. I wouldn't do that to you, or to my boys.
> 
> Thanks to my prompter. I know you were looking for predominantly Hugo action so I hope this doesn’t disappoint too much.
> 
> Thank you to my fabulous alpha/beta [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/) for everything, and sticking with this over the last three months. You have the unique talent of being an amazing sounding board, without ever sounding bored. You are ace and one-of-a-kind, all the things. Shurrup, you are.
> 
> Thanks also to [BasiliskCur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasiliskCur/) for a last minute look and some really great suggestions and words of advice.
> 
> And finally, thanks to [bangyababy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy/) for the crotch concealing charm concept which I read about in your fic 'Delicate'.

_Potter-Malfoy Manor, 5th June 2025_

According to the Muggle newspapers, it was the hottest June day in 40 years. The heat bounced off the flagstones sending up wavy illusions. The wind had long since vacated the country, leaving the grass and trees standing silent as if too hot to move.

Harry moved through the water with robotic precision, legs pumping and arms working in a fluid rhythm. He tilted his head sideways grabbing a lungful of air before plunging his face back into the water. The tiled mosaic of the pool wall came shimmering into view and he knew he was almost there. He could taste success. Five more long strokes and he was gripping the wall and pushing himself upwards.

“Yessss!!!” He took an explosive gulp of air. “Now who’s the has-been?” He looked around triumphantly, trying to stifle a choking cough. Chlorinated water sprayed out of his nose instead, and his chest and throat burned.

“Still you, dad!” Sirius laughed, shaking his hair out like a shaggy black Lab. Beside him, Scorpius was sprawled on his back at the side of the pool attempting to laugh through ragged breaths. “When you gonna bloody accept that you can’t compete with us young stags?”

Titters erupted from the group sitting by the pool house. Sirius’s friends, he deduced; he could hear Róisín Finnigan-Thomas’s unmistakable cackle. Sure enough, Sirius padded over to the gang to receive the obligatory shoulder punches. Hogwarts was now allowing Seventh Years out of the grounds at weekends, meaning there was a posse of scantily-clad 17 year olds steadily increasing in rowdiness as the drinks flowed.

Merlin curse this middle-aged body, Harry thought, letting him down once a-fucking-gain. He was _sure_ he had beaten the boys this time. Ever since he’d stopped playing professional Quidditch, his body seemed compelled to remind him day after day that he was turning into an old man. He scowled and stalked over to the sun loungers where Draco was giving him the slow clap, a fond smile on his face.

“Oh never mind darling, you’re still my champion.” His husband looked amusedly at him. Harry shook out his hair causing Draco to yelp and clutch his drink to his bare chest. “Salazar, you’re getting pool water in my Mint Julep!”

Harry flopped down on the sun lounger, limbs still shaking from the exertion. He was dripping wet but knew he would be dry in seconds in this heat. This stifling fucking heat which did nothing to relieve the dull ache in his head. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the thumping bass of the music. The Fresh Prince and Jazzy sodding Jeff if he wasn’t mistaken. Turned up far too loud for his liking. Merlin, he _was_ getting old.

His skin tingled and prickled as it dried. Droplets fell from his hair onto his cheeks and he resisted wiping them away.

“I’m a decrepit old man, Draco,” he sighed. “I’m no longer anyone’s hero; the Saviour who couldn’t save a sodding kneazle from a tree without putting his back out for a week.”

“Oh piffle,” Draco scoffed. “Listen why don’t I get you a nice cold beer and we can—ah, look, here come Pans and Gin now. Oh now Harry that _has_ to be a D&G gown. Last summer’s line, but who’s keeping tabs, eh? And gods, Ginevra is positively glowing in that cute Tory Burch frock.” Draco leapt up to greet the two women.

Harry put his glasses on and squinted at them. Pansy was wearing some sort of long floaty pineapple print ensemble over her yellow bikini, and flanked by Ginny, in a sporty white sundress, which accentuated her tiny baby bump. She _did_ look radiant.

“Happy Birthday, Draco,” they chimed. Pansy leaned in for air kisses, one on each cheek. Ginny grabbed Draco into a side hug and accepted his pecks, while sticking her tongue out at Harry.

Harry grinned and waved. “Hey ladies.”

“Hi Harry,” Pansy wiggled her fingers at him before turning back to Draco. “Frightfully hot and muggy, sweetie. Who do I need to AK round here to get a cocktail, hmm hmm?” Draco guided them over to the pool bar, currently propped up by Dean, Seamus, and Blaise.

It had been a stroke of genius deciding to organise a pool party to celebrate Draco’s 45th birthday. Once the decision had been made, no expense had been spared to create the perfect day. The canapés had been portkeyed in by a bloke called Jacques from some fancy _épicerie fine_ in Paris. A team of 13 staff had been hired for the day, including an award-winning mixologist, and a DJ, ordered to play only golden oldies from the ‘90’s and ‘00’s. Draco had even insisted on importing several tonnes of snow white sand from Whitehaven Beach in Australia to make a beach play area for the younger children. How he managed to get that past the Aussie authorities Harry had no idea.

He looked across at Teddy’s daughter Dora happily building a sandcastle with Luna’s youngest, Luke. He noticed Teddy surreptitiously waving his wand towards the kids, no doubt casting sticking charms so the castle didn’t collapse. “It’s Wogwarts daddy!” Dora cried out, her hair changing from blue to yellow. Harry chuckled.

He felt a bit maudlin if he was honest, seeing them playing and laughing together, just as Scorp and Sirius had years ago; before they’d transfigured overnight into surly teenagers.  Where had the years gone?  He watched his boys laughing with their mates. Scorpius was every inch Draco with his lithe body and silky blond hair, well, all except for his bright green eyes. Sirius was the spitting image of Harry, down to the messy mop of black hair, although the tips were currently dyed blood red. In spite of himself, Harry smiled when he caught sight of their tattoos.  

On their 16th birthdays, Draco had taken the boys to get their own constellations tattooed on their shoulders. Last year, Sirius had got Canis Major with the Dog Star highlighted in red. Scorpius had his ink done 3 years ago, with the bright Antares star picked out in green.

Draco had his done too, but on his arse, he didn’t want it splashed all over the fashion magazines, thank you very much. He was still doing beach shoots at 45, the git. Harry, without a constellation namesake, had gone for a stylised dragon, dog and scorpion, entangled together along his lower back. Draco called it his trashy tramp stamp, but it didn’t stop him kissing it lovingly at any opportunity.

Harry’s thoughts wandered to their most recent bedroom session, and his face and chest heated up in shame. _No_ , he wouldn’t think about that now. Today was for celebrating Draco, his gorgeous amazing _patient_ husband, not dwelling on _that_ problem.

Speaking of which; where _was_ Draco? Harry scanned the groups of people scattered around the pool area and spotted a blond head and gesticulating hands over by Neville and Cho. The head turned his way and warm grey eyes met his. Draco’s smile widened and he waggled a bottle of beer at Harry, pointing towards him with his other hand.

Fuck, the man was beautiful. He hadn’t succumbed to the passing of time like Harry had and could easily pass for 35. Which was, of course, why he was still inundated with modelling work in both the Wizarding and Muggle fashion worlds. He was all smooth hard lines, with feathersoft porcelain skin. As opposed to this doughy wrinkled mess, Harry thought dully, prodding the muffin top lolling over the top of his trunks, which seemed to be a permanent fixture now. Harry watched as his husband left the group he'd been with, heads turning to stare at him as he walked. He still couldn’t believe this gorgeous person was his, even after 21 years of marriage.

Draco returned to the sun loungers with Harry’s beer and planted a kiss on his forehead as he handed it over.

“Thanks hon,” Harry took a long drink from the bottle, his fingers sliding in the cool condensation. He stared at his husband’s pert arse as he leant over to move the parasol over his sun lounger, nestled within pink skin-tight swimming briefs which really didn’t leave much to the imagination. Harry lowered the bottle from his mouth and admired the moving muscles and tendons on the backs of Draco’s creamy calves and thighs. So perfect. He shook his head and closed his eyes again, frowning.

“Harry, wait till you hear what Cho Chang was telling me!” Draco whispered conspiratorially. “She and Longbottom were just saying—” he broke off mid sentence. “Salazar! Who. Is. That. Delectable. Creature? He’s just _edible_!”

Harry was used to him ogling other men. They did it all the time in jest, both knowing the other would never act on it. They trusted each other implicitly. They would never—

“Merlin, I don’t believe it, I did _not_ even recognise him. He _has_ grown up since the last time we saw him.” Draco purred, interrupting Harry’s thoughts, “I shall have to have a word with Weasley about what he’s been feeding him. Or maybe they’ve changed the Hogwarts menus at long bloody last, who knows?”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, chest, ears and temples suddenly thudding. Goosebumps rose up on his arms, despite the blistering heat. Of _course_ he’d be here. The boy whose name had wormed its way into his head six months ago and refused to leave. He turned his head to look across the pool.

 _Hugo_.

________________

_Six Months Earlier_

It had been dark and overcast all day, the air ominously thick and heavy. Just as the clock struck midnight the heavens broke and, with a roar, finally released their torrent of rain.  

Harry was feeling warm and fuzzy though. A delicious silkiness was snaking its way through his bloodstream. His mind was drifting in and out like the spring tides in the bay near Teddy’s cottage in Brighton. He was lounging on a large squashy armchair upholstered in maroon velvet. It was big enough for two and Draco was curled in beside him, head resting on his shoulder, soft blond hair tickling his neck.

The Granger-Weasley annual Boxing Day party was winding down. Far _far_ too much had been eaten; Ron was well on his way to surpassing Molly when it came to laying on an insane amount of mouth-watering food. It made sense, really, considering how much he loved his food, that he would now be the one to bring that joy to others. Harry had indulged of course, eating more than even he thought possible.  He just couldn’t resist Ron’s cheddar and red onion mini sausage rolls and had eaten about six too many.

Harry’s eyes prickled thinking how Molly would have loved to see Ron now: Domestic God, everything under control and everyone's wants met. There had been no need for Ron to work for the last 8 years, with Hermione bringing in more than enough Galleons. And, in fairness, as Minister for Magic, Hermione really didn’t have a spare minute for housework and cooking, so it all worked out perfectly and both were irritatingly happy.

Molly would have been proud, too, of Rose and Hugo; two bright eyed teenagers. They had both inherited their mother’s intelligence and bushy brown hair, and their father’s freckles and sense of mischief.

Harry glanced over at where the teens were sprawled on cushions in the den, playing a drinking game, while watching the adapted TV that Arthur had set up. Every so often the relative calm of the adults’ party was punctuated by raucous shouts of “Dude!”, “Drink!” or, bizarrely, “Shut the fuck up Donny!”, before they all knocked back the milky looking drinks they were holding. Harry made a mental note to ask Scorpius about it later.

He caught Sirius’ eye briefly and gave him a nod. Sirius waved back and then Hugo turned and waggled his tattooed fingers at Harry too. The two boys had been best friends since they were toddlers, and Harry’s heart swelled to see them still so close, clutching their drinks, heads together, snickering at some secret joke.

Draco writhed cat-like in the chair and twisted his supple body round to fully face Harry’s. Craning his neck up, he whispered in Harry’s ear. “I been ponderin’,” he slurred, fingertips circling the buttons on Harry’s shirt. “Ponderin’ the question of… well... thinkin’ ‘bout our, y’know, our _stuff_.”

“Our _stuff_?” Harry whispered back, trying to hide a smirk, knowing full well what Draco meant.

“You _know_ , our _sit-u-ation,_ ” Draco enunciated in cut glass tones. “Trying to keep the _dragon_ awake, or well... seeing as it’s you, the ummm, _stag_ I suppose? Keep the antlers, umm, _upright_ , so to speak?” He giggled behind his hand.

Harry bit back a guffaw. Draco was endearingly _silly_ when he was tipsy. It was impossible to be embarrassed about the _sit-u-ation_ when he was being so damn cute. He grasped Draco’s waist and pulled him in closer. “Go on then babe, what’s the result of this brilliant _ponderin’_?”

“I have a cunning plan!” Draco’s attempt to impersonate Baldrick, and the accompanying finger jabbing into the air, had Harry snorting into his mulled mead.

“Please, no more potions,” Harry grimaced.

Over the past few months, Draco had been trying him on various disgusting concoctions containing tree bark and red ginseng, aimed at relaxing blood vessels and improving blood flow to the, er, _dormant_ area. Unfortunately, they had seen limited success, and the side effects were beginning to wear Harry down. The headaches, irritability, tremors, and blurred vision really did nothing to enhance his ability to perform, or even get in the mood. But he had _tried_. He had tried for Draco’s sake more than anything. The crushing guilt that he could no longer be everything his husband needed was far more compelling and persuasive than any selfish reasons of his own.

“No more potions, I prommmisssse,” Draco murmured in his ear, his hot breath causing Harry an involuntary shiver. “This will be a lot more fun. You’ll see.”

“And do I get a say in said plan?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Hmm... _Actually,_ I think—” But Draco was cut off by Seamus yelling across the room.

“Oi, Harry! We’re gasping here!” He was brandishing an empty glass. “Your turn to make the drinks. An’ none of that Advocaat shite this time, that was manky.”

Teddy chimed in with a “Hear, hear!” and held his glass out too.

They had decided to take turns to make drinks after Ron had fallen asleep on the sofa in his Chudley Cannons apron. The rule was it had to be a different drink each time, with some _interesting_ results. Ginny’s pumpkin and firewhiskey combo had been foul, but Hermione’s mulled mead hadn’t been half bad.

Harry drained the last drops of his mead, before extricating himself from a pouting Draco, and heaving himself up off the chair. He could already imagine how shit he was going to feel in the morning after all the food and drinks combinations. Luckily Draco brewed an excellent hangover potion and had already set a dose each on their nightstands.

As he made his way to the kitchen, levitating the empty glasses, he glanced in at the kids—no, the young adults. Most were staring intently at the TV screen, but Scorpius appeared to be sleeping with his head in Rose’s lap.  Hugo noticed Harry and looked up, smirking and winking. Merlin, was that an eyebrow piercing? That was new. He would have to find out from Ron what Hermione’s reaction had been. She'd already had a triple conniption over the tattoos spreading up Hugo’s hands, arms and neck; although she had softened a little when she’d read the runes on his fingers. Harry couldn’t remember what they meant but it was definitely something soppy. He grinned and winked back before heading off to the kitchen, stumbling on the edge of a rug as he went.

He decided on Hot Ports, traditional and Christmassy, and most importantly, he could actually remember the ingredients. He set about locating lemons, cloves and honey. In the back of the cupboard he snagged some fancy glasses with little handles. He cast a warming charm on a pan of water and opened the drinks cabinet, selecting a bottle of Ogden’s Ruby Port. He had just got the cap off after a few moments of drunken fumbling, when the lights in the kitchen went out.

Harry instinctively reached for his wand, but before he could cast _Lumos_ , strong hands grabbed him by the waist, and a hard body was pressing against his back. He let out a startled yelp and dropped his wand on the counter, as a “Ssshhhh” was breathed against his neck.

 _Draco_.

Harry chuckled. “Is this your cunning—”

“Sssshhhh!!!” Louder this time. Draco pushed his groin into Harry’s arse and Harry gasped at how rock hard Draco already was. All that _ponderin’_ must have got him pretty excited. Harry giggled again.

“But what if someone comes—” Before Harry had even finished, he heard the click of the doors locking. Wandless and wordless. _Nice_ , he thought, filing it away to praise his husband about later.

He placed his hands flat on the kitchen counter and pushed his arse back against Draco, rolling it slowly, eliciting a filthy moan from the man behind him. At the noise, he felt his own cock stiffening. _Yes_ , he thought, this is working, this is _happening_. Relief flooded over him.

Strong hands pressed down on top of his own on the countertop, and soft wet lips explored the back of his neck as Harry ground himself backwards. Draco continued to moan wantonly. The sound of that above the noise of the rain beating against the kitchen window had Harry’s cock eagerly straining against his jeans. His breath was coming out in short huffs as they moved together hungrily.

Fuck, this was exhilarating. It had awakened something in his brain and in his cock and it felt like his blood was singing in his veins. Fucking _finally_. Maybe it was the danger of being in someone else’s kitchen. Maybe it was the darkness, something to do with heightened senses?

Fuck. Fuck. Harry couldn't think about that now, Draco had moved one hand to press against Harry’s cock and was slowly and firmly massaging him in an agonising rhythm as he bucked back against his husband’s erection. Draco’s teeth tugged at Harry’s earlobe and, Merlin, sparks of ecstasy were igniting at the base of his spine. It was so sweet and he wanted to cry and he wanted to laugh and instead he just let out a long moan of pleasure and happiness. It had been a long time and he wasn’t going to last, but he didn’t care. For a long minute there was nothing but a torrid rhythm of hands and arses and cocks and rubbing and panting, until—

“Uhhh fuck, I’m tho clothhe,” gasped Draco, hot breath against his ear.

Harry froze.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. That _voice_.

Only one person he knew spoke with a soft lisp like that.

Horrified, he looked down at the hand covering his, still pressed flat against the kitchen worktop. In the gloom, he could just make out black runes, one on each finger. His stomach lurched violently as the world tilted sharply on its axis.

He whirled round in panic, knocking the other man to the floor. “ _Lumos,_ ” he shouted. Sure enough, sitting on the kitchen tiles, legs splayed out, was Hugo.

Hugo. His _son’s best friend._ His _best friend’s son_. He felt like he’d been punched hard in the gut and everything he’d eaten and drunk that night was about to be forcefully expelled. His mind was reeling. What was _wrong_ with him? How drunk was he? How could he have mistaken this _kid_ for Draco?

“Hugo, what the _hell_?” Harry roared. The teenager looked up at him defiantly; cheeks flushed, lips swollen, chest heaving. “What— What the actual— What did you think—,” Merlin, he couldn’t get the words out. He was having trouble just ensuring his legs didn’t buckle under him.

“Well you theemed to be enjoying it just fucking fine a minute ago,” Hugo said insolently, blue eyes challenging him. He stared pointedly at Harry’s bulging crotch; yes well _of course_ his traitorous cock would take its sweet time to get the memo, the same cock that had been refusing to cooperate for the last three months.

“Because I _thought_ you were _Draco_!” Harry’s voice had risen two octaves. “I _thought_ you were my _husband_ , you know; the father of _Sirius_ , your _best friend_!” At the sight of the boy flinching, Harry’s voice softened. “By Godric, Hugo, what were you thinking?” Hugo sat mute, scowling and examining the tile next to him.

Harry sank down on the floor across from Hugo and leaned back against the kitchen unit. He tried again, voice even gentler. “C’mon Hugo, look at me, what’s going on here? You’re young and good-looking. You could have your pick of people your own age to hook up with; why’d you want to make a pass at a daft old codger like me?” Maybe if he could keep it light he could find out what the _hell_ just happened.

“I don’t _want_ my pick of people,” Hugo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve fantathithed about you and—” He coughed. “Er, you and Draco, thince—, thince well as long as I’ve had _thothe_ kind of thoughth.” His face flushed pinker, camouflaging his freckles. He frowned and the shiny piercing moved in tandem with his eyebrows.

“Me _and_ Draco?” Harry squeaked. This was getting worse.

“Yeah-eh,” He said, in a _D’uh obviously_ tone. “The grithly bear and the thilver foxth; you guyth are _thooo_ fucking hot.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back like he was reliving some sort of sexual fantasy.

Harry spluttered in disbelief. Shit, he was _not_ prepared for this. _Grizzly bear?_ He cleared his throat several times. “Okaaay," he laughed nervously, "So you've got a little _crush_ on Draco and me. What made you think it was now okay to act on that? I’m a married man, Hugo.”

“You were totally giving me the glad-eye earlier! Don’t deny it. When I was thitting in the den with Thiriuth. I _know_ that look!”

“I most certainly was not!” Harry retorted hotly. He took a breath and forced himself to calm down. “I was just being friendly. Friendly. _Friendly_. In a friendly dad-like kinda way. A friendly look, nothing more.” Okay he really needed to stop saying ‘friendly’. He took a few more breaths. “Merlin Hugo, what are your parents going to think? They’re my best friends.”

Hugo leapt to his feet. “You can't tell them! Shit, no no no! They don’t even know I’m gay. Promith me Mr Potter! You’re not gonna tell them?”

Harry scrunched up his face. He certainly did _not_ fancy the prospect of telling Ron and Hermione about this. Or Draco for that matter. And fuck, definitely not Sirius. His head was throbbing and it felt like some malevolent supernatural being was about to burst out of his temples. Why did this shit always happen to him?

“We can just forget all about it. Pretend it never happened. Wipe it from our memorieth. Yeth! That’th it! A memory charm! Wipe it completely!” Hugo was babbling now and pacing up and down.

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_. Nobody’s going to be doing any memory modification.” Harry’s brow furrowed, and he let out a grunt as he heaved himself up off the kitchen floor. “Okay, but maybe that would work, actually. I mean the forgetting, not the memory wiping. Let’s just chalk it up to a misunderstanding. No one was harmed, er, well at least not physically. Merlin. Yes, okay. Perhaps we don’t need to go alerting the whole world about it.”

 _But what about Draco?_ Fuck, shit, fuck. He’d _have_ to tell Draco. _Wouldn’t he?_

He shook hands with a very relieved Hugo and sent him on his way with a pint of water, a clap on the back, and a few stern words about obtaining consent before humping a bloke’s arse. With shaky hands and a splitting headache, he went back to the task of preparing Hot Ports.  

________________

 

“Harry. _Harry_. Are you getting up?”

Harry blinked and squinted up at Draco who was standing over him blocking out the sun. “Huh?” he asked, throat dry. His heart was still hammering and sweat trickled down the back of his neck leaving a cool trail in its wake.

“I said, let’s go say _bienvenue_ to the Greasley’s. Honestly!” He paused and cocked his head, rolling his eyes, “Don’t tell me your hearing is going too.”

Harry accepted Draco’s hand and rose trance-like from the sun lounger, thoughts swirling.

He hadn’t seen Hugo since that night. He’d thought he could forget all about it. He’d _tried_ to get him out of his head.  Dreamless Sleep potion helped, but as it was dangerous to use continuously he could only find that relief a couple of times a week. On the other nights the boy came to him, unwanted, moaning and writhing against him, flushed and swollen. You could call it a nightmare, because Harry woke up each time, panting, shivering, sweating and Merlin, _so hard_.

Draco’s elbow poked him in the ribs as they picked their way through the growing crowd. “Morgana! Magenta Vilebrequins? What’s Weasley thinking with _his_ colouring?” He squeezed Harry’s hand, “They’d look gorge on you though.”

Harry smiled weakly, squinting at Ron’s swimming trunks. “Er, they look bright pink to me, and are those tiny blue turtles?”

“Yes, fabulous aren't they?” Draco’s face brightened, then went serious. “On the right skin tone.”

Harry stifled a snigger, “Ooh you are awful… but I like you,” he affected in a dodgy Dick Emery accent. They shared an intense look for a second and then both burst out laughing.

This man was everything to him. But what if he could never rid his mind of Hugo? What, he worried, if he didn’t want to? Draco certainly appreciated Harry’s occasional morning wood—although it frequently flagged before either had the time or energy to make good use of it—and Harry was unable to explain why he couldn’t rise to the occasion at any other time of day.

It did, however, mean no more disgusting potions, as it was obvious now that the problem was not a physical ‘bloodflow’ one. And that left only one other possibility. Psychological. He knew it and Draco knew it.

So if it was in his mind, he should just be able to build a sodding bridge and get over it, right?  Whatever _it_ was. Something was fucked up in his head, and it was overriding his body’s normal reactions to his husband. To the man he loved.

It had started about a year after he retired from playing for the Wimbourne Wasps, around three months before the Boxing Day party. He’d wondered if that was the reason, a lack of purpose in life, but he still coached the team part time. Dumbledore’s beard, nothing made sense. How had he gone from being an up-and-coming Quidditch player 20 years ago to not _up and bloody coming_ in the slightest?

Of course there were plenty of ways he could satisfy Draco’s needs, and he did. Nevertheless, each time he felt his husband's pleasure, in the back of his throat, or deep within his arse, he could sense his husband’s shuddering disappointment—though he hid it well—that Harry was not soaring over the edge with him, his body outwardly unmoved, unaffected.  He was failing Draco.

 _Incapable,_ he thought.

_Inadequate._

And the more he worried about failing in bed, the worse it all got. Draco suggested seeing a Mind Healer but how could Harry talk to a stranger about what he couldn’t even broach with the man who was his husband, his lover, the father of his children, his best friend?

And so Harry let Hugo haunt his dreams. What’s more he’d actually managed to last through to orgasm on a handful of mornings. But rather than satisfying him, it made him feel sick to the core. Draco delighted in Harry’s release, the love etched into the crinkles of his eyes, but him not knowing Hugo’s involvement was abhorrent to Harry. It ate at him and pestered him, and burned painfully, branding words into his mind.

 _Undeserving_.

 _Guilty_.

He should have told him. He’d wanted to, that night. But when he returned from the kitchen Draco had been sleeping soundly, long graceful limbs trailing artfully over the arm of the large chair, reminding him of the _w_ _isteria_ outside the Orangerie at the Manor. He'd woken him gently when it was time to Floo home, and realising Draco's level of inebriation—all talk of a cunning plan had certainly vanished—decided to wait until morning to fill him in. He'd helped him take his potion, tucked him into bed, and stroked his soft blond hair until his eyelids stopped fluttering and his breathing slowed. He’d clambered in not long after, but sleep had not come so easily.

He'd lost his nerve. He lay awake so long that he convinced himself he was really just making a dragon-pit out of a gnome-hole, and that no good could come of telling Draco. It would only complicate things. And anyway, he’d done nothing wrong really; hadn't he been certain that he was reacting to his husband’s advances?

As they approached their friends, Harry noticed Sirius bounding over towards Hugo. They were already laughing together, miming to that irritatingly catchy _Dragostea Din Tei_ from yards away and doing some sort of hand dance. ‘ _My-ya-hii, my-ya-hu, my-ya-ho, my-ya-ha-ha_ _’_ _._ They loved retro Muggle pop music almost as much as Draco. He cracked a reluctant smile remembering the many fun evenings they’d all spent together last summer going through Draco's old CD’s and MP3’s.

Harry took the opportunity to take in Hugo’s appearance. He had certainly grown up since that night; his hair had been tamed and looked sleek and shiny, and his fringe had been swept across his forehead and half covered one blue eye. The sun’s rays reflected off his piercing and it glinted, taunting him. His cheekbones were sharp and dusted with freckles, and now that he’d stopped singing, his full lips were wrapped around a lollipop which he was lazily twirling in his mouth while he listened to some story Sirius was enthusiastically telling him. Harry stared at the fingers holding the lolly and his mind flashed back to a glimpse of runes in a darkened kitchen. He dropped his eyes from Hugo’s face, heat rising in his cheeks.

His gaze settled on the inky flames emerging from the collar of the boy’s white sleeveless Gorillaz t-shirt and licking halfway up his neck, on which hung a pendant strung with a dragon’s tooth. An Australian Opaleye tooth, he remembered, brought back from their trip last year to see Hermione's parents. A pair of _very_ small blue Adidas swim briefs with three bright orange stripes adorned his lower half, hugging his arse like a shiny blue serpent protecting her eggs. Harry quickly looked away, breath hitching.

He could do this. Pull himself together. He was an adult for fuck’s sake.

“Draco! Happy birthday!” Hermione grabbed them both in a wide armed hug. “Wow, the place looks amazing! Sorry we’re late, I had to call an emergency meeting with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes this morning—don’t even ask—so that put us all out of whack.”

“You forgot to mention that you had to change your outfit three times before leaving the house,” Ron grinned and ducked to avoid a swat from his wife, before sticking his arm out towards Draco for a crushing _Happy Birthday Bro_ handshake.

“Yes, well, there’s a certain pressure involved in dressing for a Potter-Malfoy party. Funnily, I always feel like I’m on a Muggle runway being judged,” Hermione pursed her lips and looked pointedly at Draco.

“Granger, surely you know you you can wear whatever you’re comfortable in to our relaxed little gatherings. No one’s _judging_. And besides,” he cast his eyes appreciatively downwards, “that Missoni bikini is bang on trend, and the lime green kaftan...” Draco kissed his fingers with a ‘mwah’ like an Italian chef.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “See?”

Ron laughed, “To be fair, Hugo took just as long to get ready. Never seen him fuss over his bloody hair so much.”

“And he still ended up looking like a grungy delinquent,” Hermione added, exasperated. “No wonder he doesn’t ever have any girlfriends.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Draco gave him a sly smirk. They’d never directly discussed Hugo’s sexuality but to them it had been obvious for years that he didn’t have quite the interest in females that Sirius did.

Harry cleared his throat, “Right, before anyone dies of heatstroke, can I tempt you with a drink from the bar. A cocktail perhaps? We have a ‘man who can’ flown in special so you needn’t worry it’ll be a repeat of Boxing Day.” Harry couldn’t help noticing Hugo’s eyes flicking towards him at the mention of that particular day.

“Ooh try a Mint Julep, they’re divine. It’s proper Kentucky Bourbon,” Draco enthused. “Malcolm adds just a dash of bitters and it makes it so refreshing! Harry, can you grab me another one?”

“One for me too please, Harry,” said Hermione. “Let me check with the kids what they want.”

“I’ll give you a hand getting them in,” said Ron.

Hermione returned moments later. “Rose wants a Mint Julep too, and Hugo says he fancies a _Ménage À Trois._ ”

Harry gaped. “A what?” he managed.

“I know! Said it had rum and Triple Sec in it, and that you would know what he meant. He obviously thinks you’re a cocktail expert,” she laughed.

“He’s got me jumbled up with Draco then,” Harry smiled, a second later realising that what he’d said did _not_ help to dispel the images slithering into the cracks of his consciousness. Merlin, what was Hugo playing at? They were both supposed to have ‘wiped this from their memories’. He took a deep calming breath and willed his headache to subside. _It’s just a bloody cocktail_ , he thought, _get a grip_.

“Okay, we’ve got our orders,” Harry put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and started leading them away. He glanced back to see Hermione casting cooling charms over the group. “Actually Ron, you never said what you’re having.”

“Just a beer for me, mate. I don’t trust all these fancy Muggle cocktails, you never know what’s in them.”

“Malcolm’s a professional, Ron. He isn’t going to poison you. Not any worse than the Boxing Day drinks, although you were passed out, so... Either way, Draco will have a potion to help, so what’s the harm?”

“Mmm, you can’t be too careful I always say,” Ron paused in thought. “Actually, you _can_ be too careful. Driving too carefully, that can be _dangerous_. Creates a hazard for other road users if you’re too slow, people get impatient with you and take risks to overtake, and _that’s_ when accidents happen.”

Harry laughed, “Er, good point mate. So have you passed your test yet?” Hermione had found out about Ron using a Confundus charm on the examiner the first time, and had insisted he re-sit.

“Yes, yes,” Ron rolled his eyes. “I remembered to look in the sodding mirrors this time an’ all.”

The shade of the bar area was a welcome relief from the stinging heat of the sun. Harry could feel the magical tingle of a permanent cooling charm, its icy fingers caressing his bare skin, not unlike Muggle air conditioning, he mused.

He ordered the drinks, blushing slightly at having to say _Ménage À Trois,_ though Malcolm just nodded compliantly. He then turned back round to Ron who was already chatting with Seamus and Dean.

“Ya wanna keep an eye on those kids, bud, they’re on the absolute lash today, you’d swear they were never let out of Hogwarts before. Our Róisín said no one’s allowed leave until at least two people have puked their ring.” Seamus shook his head despairingly.

“Morgana’s tits, I’ve no idea where she gets it from,” Dean said, “Or who gave her that naggin of firewhiskey she has stashed in her handbag. It’s a bloody mystery.” He exaggerated a puzzled frown, earning him a thwap on the arse from Seamus.

“Shurrup, ya maggot,” Seamus grinned as Dean pulled him in for a kiss on the side of the head. “Anyway, where’s the birthday boy? I’ve a bone to pick with him, I heard he was slagging off me swimmin’ trunks. Nothin’ wrong with the Ballycastle Bats, second most successful team in the Quidditch League…”

But Harry didn’t hear the rest of what Seamus was saying.

Across the pool he’d spotted Draco, smiling and leaning into someone. Someone who had a tattooed arm around his husband—lollipop still in hand—and a mouth pressed against his ear.

________________

  
Harry strode purposefully back out into the searing heat. He squinted in the bright light and re-cast the shade charm on his glasses. His heart felt like there was a heavy weight pressing down on it, crushing, squeezing. He just couldn’t believe the nerve of Hugo. Had he learned nothing? And what was Draco doing, allowing it? In fact, not only allowing it, encouraging it by the looks of things.  Harry scowled at the sight of Draco now apparently whispering in the boy’s ear. Merlin’s pants, Hermione was only standing a few yards away; it made no sense.

Dumbledore had once told him that ‘age was foolish and forgetful when it underestimated youth’, and he was beginning to think the old man had been right. Harry had wildly underestimated what Hugo was capable of.

As he passed by the children’s beach area he heard a voice singing, “Uncle Har-ry!”

He wheeled around to see Teddy’s little girl beckoning him, “Come and see, Uncle Harry, come and seeee.”

“Not now Dora,” he started, but Harry being Harry he was a sucker for those big brown eyes. Brown eyes that had just now changed to green to match his own. “Okay, what is it?”

Dora pointed to two insects on her sandcastle, “Look at these two daggonflies! They're stuck together. What are they doing, Uncle Harry?”

“Er, perhaps one is giving the other one a piggy back?”

“No-oh,” she frowned. “That one is cuddling the other one’s bum.” She covered her mouth with both hands and giggled.

“Aha! Clever girl! _You_ have happened upon the extremely rare bum-cuddling dragonfly.” Harry lifted her up into his arms, swung her round, and then set her back down again, fixing her sun-hat which had been knocked askew. “I know. Why don't you go tell Aunty Luna about it, she knows _all_ about rare beasties.”

Dora skipped off delightedly and Harry watched her fondly for a few moments before, turning his attention back to the more pressing matter of the young Granger-Weasley. He hadn’t taken more than a few more steps when someone else was calling his name. _Merlin!_

“Harry, you pillock, you forgot the drinks.” Ron caught up to him, levitating a tray of beers and cocktails.

Harry clapped his palm to his forehead, “Sorry! Bloody memory’s going too it seems, Ron. When did we get so _old_?”

“Tell me about it mate, ‘Mione’s always ribbing me about the groaning noises I make just tryin’ to get up out of a chair. Not that she can talk, Merlin, just the other night we were trying this new— well, nevermind.” Ron coughed, and slapped Harry’s shoulder, causing him to wince. “Maybe some other time. Anyway, we might just have to face it, Harry me old mucker, we’re no longer the villain-fighting trio we once were.”

“You can say that again, mate,” Harry said. Ron was right, he was no longer The Boy Who Lived; more like The Old Fogey Who Couldn’t Get It Up. “Apparently, they say that age is all _in your mind_. I dunno. The real bugger seems to be keeping it from creeping down into your body.”

“No kidding, bro. Everything bloody well hurts, and anything that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t bloody work.”

Harry could certainly identify with that.

Ron suddenly beamed, “Oh! I love this tune Harry. ‘Children’, remember it? Played it all the time in the car when I was learning. Just makes me wanna driiiiive.” Ron moved his arms from side to side miming driving, causing the drinks tray to wobble precariously in mid-air, glasses and ice clinking. He paused his reverie for a second, eyes wide. “Galloping gargoyles, am I seeing things or is Hugo rubbing sunscreen potion on Draco’s back? That seems a bit… odd. Helpful of him, I suppose.”

At Ron’s words, Harry’s head spun round towards Draco and sure enough he was sitting forwards on the end of a sun lounger, elbows on his knees, allowing _that boy_ to massage the oily coconutty potion into his back. What in the name of Godric’s glistening sword?

“Draco,” he croaked. The mournful piano riffs of the Robert Miles track circled and rose to a crescendo, and he tried again, “Draco!”

Draco and Hugo both looked in his direction. Hugo sprang to his feet on seeing Harry, while Draco sat up wand-straight with a wild, excited expression on his face, and seemed almost breathless. He clapped his hands, “Harry, oh Harry, I need to—”

Harry didn’t let him finish. “Draco,” he bit out with a forced smile. “Darling. A word please. Inside.” He glanced at Ron and Hugo. “Just party stuff,” he lied. He rubbed at his temples, feeling his head was about to split. Hugo was not looking nearly contrite enough for his liking, and where was Sirius anyway?

Harry mentally commended himself on his composure. It was something he’d worked on over the years, masking strong emotions in polite company, avoiding the sort of raw outbursts he’d been known for in his youth. He’d learned from watching Draco at home and at social gatherings, and particularly in his dealings with the extreme personalities one encountered in the fashion world. One badly timed rage or hissy fit, and photos and video clips could be splashed all over the Muggle and Wizarding media.

Draco would never forgive him for making a scene at his birthday party. Although why Harry was concerned about that right now, he had no sodding idea.

“Is everything okay, Harry?” Draco questioned softly. He took Harry's hand lightly in his own as they made their way towards the door into the kitchens, and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles, “You seem a little vexed.”

Harry faltered for a second but said nothing.  He kept on walking until they were safely inside the door of the kitchen wing, whereon he turned to face his husband.

He looked at Draco’s familiar kind grey eyes veiled by white blond eyelashes, the smooth line of his nose, and the sheen of perspiration on his upper lip. He took in his pale shoulders where there were still traces of sun potion not fully rubbed in. His gaze dropped to the man’s lithe torso and graceful slender arms and down to where their hands were clasped between them. The contrast of Harry’s tanned stubby fingers and Draco’s pale elegant ones always made him smile, but now he couldn’t smile. The pernicious thing inside him was squeezing his heart too tight.

He took a deep breath and looked back up into Draco’s eyes, “Draco. We need to talk about Hugo.”

Draco’s eyes lit up and he squeezed Harry’s hands. “Yes. Yes we do, Harry! We so do. How did you know?”

“What? What do you mean ‘yes we do, Harry’? You’re just gonna— Wait. What’s going on?”

“Okay,” Draco laughed. “Just, um, we should go somewhere more private, the caterers are coming and going through here. Where’s closest? The billiard room?”

Harry looked around the scullery and the heap of dirty plates and glasses waiting to be Scourgified. He started as a member of the catering staff walked in from the main kitchen, before backing out quickly with a stuttered “Sorry Sirs, I was just—”

This was not the place for this discussion. “Yeah. Yeah ok. The billiard room.”

He let Draco lead the way through the kitchens, into the lower hall and through the heavy mahogany door into the billiard room. Harry was confused. He hadn’t expected Draco to be so keen to confess all. And so blasé about it. Worse than blasé, he seemed excited.

The billiard room was much cooler than outside and Harry was suddenly very aware that they were both standing there in nothing but tiny swimming trunks. Draco hopped up onto the billiard table and sat there casually swinging his legs, as if Harry’s heart and soul and sanity weren’t hanging in the balance.

“What’s this all about Draco?” he blurted. “I saw him. Hugo. I saw him kissing you!”

“Kissing me?” Draco stopped swinging his legs and sat up a little straighter, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“He had his arm around you and his mouth on your ear and neck!”

“Oh Harry, you dolt, he wasn’t kissing me,” Draco laughed, slender legs swinging again. “He was making some _interesting_ suggestions that, em, he didn’t want overheard.”

“And that’s better how?” Harry demanded, despite being thoroughly relieved about the not-kissing part.

“Harry, calm down, okay, remember that idea I had about a threesome? Remember I read in _Crooked Wand_ about how it could help to spice things up?”

“Er, yeah but...” Harry had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. Draco had been suggesting ever ‘spicier’ things for them to try to revive Harry's libido. This was the latest in a line of kinky suggestions, including role-playing, Floo porn and spanking, all of which had been total flops, in every sense of the word. Last night’s episode had been no exception.

Draco had looked so fucking beautiful. He was wearing a camisole, navy silk edged in light blue lace, which skimmed his toned chest. The lace of the brazilian cut Agent Provocateur knickers hugged his arse just so and Harry had been speechless with desire and wanted to touch, caress and explore every inch of Draco’s body both over and under the silk.

But when he’d pulled the purple ribbon off the shell pink box Draco handed him, he couldn’t go through with it. The desire had fled. The ivory silk lingerie Draco wanted him to wear was exquisite but he just couldn’t. Despite Harry being unable to explain why—Merlin, he couldn’t even explain it to himself—Draco had been tender and forgiving. He’d held a weeping Harry in his arms, fingers running through his hair, twisting in the soft black strands at his neck, until his tears had dried up and he’d drifted off to sleep.

Harry had woken this morning, still cradled in his husband’s arms, head resting on his silk-clad chest, and silently vowed to do whatever it took to overcome this weakness, this defect within him.

The threesome idea had been bandied about a few weeks ago and Harry was unsure how he felt about it. It would be a big deal, inviting a stranger into the bedroom that he and Draco had shared for the last 20 years. He couldn’t imagine feeling comfortable watching Draco and another man kissing and touching and—

“Well, the thing is, I was asking Hugo about his drink and somehow we got to chatting about _certain things_. Oh yes, of course! Because the cocktail was a ménage à trois, Salazar, he's so flirty. And do you know he reminds me of you a little, with that messy hair, and fine arse.”

“Draco,” Harry spluttered, “this is your son’s best friend you’re talking about. Are you insane?”

Draco wasn’t listening. “He was saying how he'd always fancied trying a threesome, and that he’s had this major crush on us for, like, forever, oh wait Harry you’ll never guess what he calls us, it’s the funniest, the—”

“The silver fox and the grizzly bear,” Harry interrupted in a resigned flat tone.

“Well, yes.” Draco looked confused. “Harry? How did you know that?”

Harry flinched, realising his slip far too late. He huffed out a sigh. He supposed it was time he told Draco about the Boxing day kerfuffle. But was now really the time? At Draco’s birthday party? Perhaps he could put it off until tomorrow, the guests were still going to be here for several more hours, they still hadn’t even brought out the birthday cake. He picked at the green baize on the billiard table and considered what to do.

Just then, the door creaked open and both men looked up to see a brown-haired figure swagger into the room and plop himself down on the Chesterfield, manspreading himself to such an extent that both pairs of eyes were instantly drawn to the nucleus of his ultra form-fitting speedos. “Found you!” he smirked deviously, and Harry and Draco’s eyes snapped to his face.

“Hugo.” Harry cleared his throat. “Can we help you?”

“I thertainly hope so,” he said with prurient smirk. He flicked his wand, wordlessly locking the door. Harry had barely time to wonder where Hugo had been stowing his wand, before the kid was speaking again, “Well are we gonna do thith thing or what?” Hugo put his two hands behind his head stretching himself even wider on the leather sofa, as though he thought that unabashedly displaying his wares was going to entice Harry into round two of _whatever the fuck this was_. Harry was incredulous at the neck on this kid.

He heard Draco squeak beside him. “Hu-go,” he admonished, “I didn’t mean right here in the middle of the party. What _are_ you like?”

“Aaw man. No fair. You two have been parading about half naked, it’s making me tho damn horny.” He pouted and palmed his crotch, and Harry heard Draco gulp as he began shamelessly rubbing his now obvious erection. “Come onnnnn,” he begged.

“Merlin save us! Hugo, you—” Draco must have been scandalised, it wasn’t often words failed him.

The surprising thing was, Harry found himself not in the least bit turned on by Hugo’s display. This was despite the growing flush on Hugo’s face and the hooded blue eyes staring straight at him, making him appear almost as he did during Harry’s sweaty nightmares.

Hugo stood up slowly, carnivorous eyes never leaving Harry’s. His tattooed hand, however slipped inside his trunks to grip the rigid contents. Harry looked down and gasped, the head of Hugo’s cock was peeping out of the waistband, and he couldn’t help staring at the rosy flesh topped by a jewel of precome. It was an erotic sight, Harry could appreciate that, but nope, nothing, not a twitch. It was a sweet relief. Perhaps he wasn’t as perverted as he thought. It wasn’t Hugo he lusted after at all. But what then? What was the fucking problem?

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand grasping his waist and a yelp from Draco. Hugo had closed the distance and grabbed Harry, shoving him against the billiard table roughly and pressing his hard length against Harry's bare thigh. That was the wake up call it took for Harry’s senses to snap back into place.

“Stop! No!” He held his hands up and sprang away from the kid, banging his hip painfully and causing the billiard balls to clack noisily against each other. “No way! This—This is not gonna happen! Draco, Hugo, I’m sorry, I’m—I’m not interested.” He took a breath. “Draco, I know what you’re trying to do here, and I really appreciate it but it’s not gonna work. Hugo you’re a great bloke, and very _very_ attractive, but I love my husband and I do _not_ want to share him with you or anyone else. I’m sorry if I’ve given anyone the wrong impression.” Harry hung his head, tired of all the drama.

“Fucking fabuloth,” Hugo snapped. “Denied _again_.” He tucked himself back into his speedos giving his cock two terse pumps for good measure. He removed his hand leaving his stiff prick straining obstinately against the blue material, pulling the orange stripes askew. “Well you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Will you be okay Hugo? Gosh, I’m sorry too, I was just trying to—” Draco hesitated, clearly not wanting to give away Harry’s shortcomings. His eyes flicked down to Hugo's tented swimming briefs. “Er, so, you might want to, er, straighten yourself up. The lavatory is just down the hall on your right, past the ballroom and right opposite the music room. And there’s a door back out to the pool area just past the dungeon stairs. Help yourself to more cocktails and canapés dear, and do let’s try and enjoy ourselves and put this silliness behind us.”

“Oh I fully intend to enjoy mythelf,” Hugo replied snottily. “There are plenty more half-nude hunkth at this party that will happily give me a helping hand. That Thabini bloke maybe, he’th a thweet thpoonful of sugar that’d help my medithine go down any day.” He performed a sort of overhead flourish of his wand, unlocking the door, before turning and stalking out, flip-flops flip-flopping, leaving Harry and Draco to gape after him.

Draco was the first to say something. “How in Merlin’s name do Weasley and Granger not know that boy is homosexual?” At that, Harry creased over laughing, and Draco soon joined in.

“What...the fuck...just happened?” Harry wheezed, still doubled over and eyes wet with mirth.

“Salazar, I’m sorry Harry,” Draco said, still giggling. “Not one of my better plans, I’ll admit.”

“Fucking terrible, Draco. Completely _inappropriate_ and terrible.” Harry straightened up and put his hand on Draco’s shoulder, rubbing in the last traces of sun potion. He looked him in the eyes. “But...I get why you did it, so thanks... I guess.”

“I messed up. I just—I just love you so fucking much, and I can see how this, this impediment is eating you up. I just want you, us, to be happy. Tell me how to make you happy, Harry.” Draco put his arms around Harry and rested his head on his shoulder. Harry wanted to cry with love for his husband in that moment.

“We _are_ happy, Draco. And we’ll figure something out. Just...just not threesomes, I am _tho_ not up for that.” Harry grinned, and instantly felt bad for mocking Hugo’s lisp.

Draco chuckled, then pulled back to look at Harry. “Harry?” His brow furrowed. “What _exactly_ did Hugo mean by ‘Denied _again_ ’?”

Harry’s stomach constricted. He glanced down at the faint scars on the back of his hand. _I must not tell lies_. He inhaled deeply, steeling himself.

“Well. Actually. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you...”

________________

 

“So you’re telling me you _actually_ thought that a seventeen year old boy grinding up against your arse was me?” Draco's eyebrows were so far up his forehead they were threatening to merge with his hairline.

“I told you, it was _dark_ in the kitchen.” Harry sighed. “I know it sounds ridiculous but I honestly thought it was another of your wild ideas.”

“Dark, eh?” Draco looked thoughtful, eyebrows now thankfully back in their rightful place.

 “I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. I just— Hey what are you—? Draco, what the fuck?”

Draco had extinguished the lights and, without warning, pressed himself against Harry: thigh to bare thigh, chest to bare chest, mouth to very surprised open mouth, fingers tightly gripping Harry's hair, on that exquisite border between pleasure and pain.

Harry was flummoxed, one minute he was telling Draco about the awful incident with Hugo and the next he was being, well, _ravished_?  Surely Draco hadn't been turned on by that? Stumbling backwards against the leather sofa, Harry decided to just go with it. He opened his mouth to Draco's tongue, its swirling wetness tasting of mint and bourbon and sugar. Heat rose in his chest and he felt an odd teenage fluttering in his stomach.

Draco straddled him on the sofa and as they deepened the kiss. Harry’s hands searched in the dark and found Draco’s perfect arse, fingers slipping under the fabric of his swimming trunks and caressing the smooth taut skin, cool beneath his touch. He pulled and pushed and kneaded Draco’s pert arse cheeks and gods it felt so good. He heard a low growling sound and was startled to realise he was the one making it.

He sucked in a breath and was assaulted by the sharp aroma of citrus and leather and since when had Draco smelled so fucking _incredible_? In this darkness it was almost overwhelming. Images flashed through his mind of hot feverish nights in Elba, where they’d spent their honeymoon. Long days exploring the countless trails around the island, traipsing lazily round Napoleon’s house of exile, or eating _frutti di mare_ and sampling the local rosé in Marina di Campo. They'd return to their room at dusk and fall hungrily on each other, tasting, feeling, inhaling each others’ scents; excitement building hearing the sounds of pleasure they could create in each other, unravelling one another piece by piece, whispering _I love you_ and _yes like that_ and _more_ and _need you_. Butterflies flapped in Harry's stomach at the memory and tickled at the base of his spine.

Draco moved his fingers down Harry's neck and shoulders never breaking the kiss. He felt Draco move his body closer, and his breath hitched as he felt Draco's hard length press against his own hardness—wait, _his own hardness_?

They both exclaimed at the same time, panting heavily.

“Harry! You’re—”

“Draco! I’m—”

Merlin, this was the first proper hard-on in so fucking long—excluding the Hugo dreams of course. Harry hardly had a second to think about why, when Draco was sliding down his body and all but ripping off his trunks.

In the darkness, a warm wet mouth found Harry's engorged prick and he was lost. Lost in slippery heat, the vibrations of Draco’s needy humming transporting him far away from the persistent dark clouds of his brooding and ruminating to a place of brightness and heat. A place where Harry could bask in the feel of Draco’s firm hands on his balls and at the base of his cock as he licked and sucked voraciously, a place without gloom and doubts and fears crowding him.

His hands found Draco’s silky hair and thumbed the soft skin of his ears, and when his husband moaned sinfully in response, Harry thrashed his head back against the smooth leather sofa and allowed himself to be utterly consumed.

He couldn’t have said if minutes or hours were passing; all Harry was aware of was a tingling heat radiating from his groin, slowly snaking down his thighs, down his calves, and down again to his tightly curled toes. Warmth coiled through his belly and chest and up, up, up his spine to his face, cheeks flushing and breath quickening.

His fingers fluttered in Draco’s hair, and suddenly they were twisting his hair roughly and Harry was bucking and crying out, “Draco! Oh fuck!” and coming, white heat exploding in his brain, and Draco was swallowing and milking and stroking his squirming husband until there was nothing left but sparkly patterns of colours and light behind Harry’s eyelids and a feeling of pure joy.

He came to from his blissed out state and realised Draco was struggling slightly. He released his grip on his hair with a whispered, “sorry”. Draco slid his mouth off Harry slowly and then surged upward to pull him into a tight hug.

Draco whispered, “ _Lumos_ ,” into Harry’s ear and Harry blinked as the room was bathed in light. Draco pulled back, beaming from ear to ear, lips swollen and cheeks flushed—the most gorgeous man alive.

“Draco, that was so incredible—I have no words—just, gods I love you so fucking much, you’re too good for me, too good for this world, you’re an actual angel. Must be.”  

“Post-sex afterglow much?” Draco laughed. “And I’m not too good for you, you daft bugger. If you only realised how much I love _you_ , your head would explode.” He pulled back and looked at Harry, head cocked to the side. “Merlin, all those things we tried, and all I needed to do was turn off the light.”

“Yeah, fuck, I really could have done without those clothes pegs that time, they were just bloody painful,” Harry laughed.

Draco hummed a thoughtful note. “What _is_ it about the dark, do you reckon?”

He cleared his throat, “Actually Draco, I’m starting to think that maybe the darkness helps me switch off from the shit that’s going on in my head. Once that shit’s switched off I can just focus on how everything feels,” Harry winced and looked up at Draco warily.

“What shit, Harry?” Draco furrowed his brow in concern.

“Ugh, I guess you could call them destructive thoughts, I dunno, it’s like getting stuck with a bad song on repeat, continuously looping a whole pile of negative thoughts round and round my head, until it’s all I can focus on.”

“Negative thoughts?” Draco asked gently.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, um, about myself and my inability to satisfy you and how I’m failing you, and how I’m flabby and middle-aged and falling apart, and you’re just so hot and gorgeous and bloody perfect—”

“Hold on a second. Really?” Draco looked stunned. “Harry James Potter, do you not realise you’re sexier now to me than you _ever_ were. Salazar, I haven’t been able to take my eyes of you all day in those damnable Aussiebum swim shorts. I’ve had to stop myself thinking about peeling them off you on several occasions. Pansy was getting jolly cross with me at one point, accused me of not listening to her. Said it was _sickening_ the way I was staring at you.” Draco paused, eyes narrowing. “Back the broom up a minute. Failing me? You think you’ve been _failing_ me?”

“Yeah, well letting you down, y’know, in the bedroom,” Harry said. He prodded Draco in the ribs, “I know how much you love my dick up your arse.”

Draco feigned horror, “You uncouth swine!” but he was struggling to fight a smile. “Yes, okay, I can’t deny that _is_ true.”

He ran his hands through Harry’s hair, curling a strand around his forefinger. “Merlin, Harry, please don’t ever think you’re letting me down. I’ve never thought that. If anything I’ve let _you_ down by not figuring this all out sooner.”

“Err, how is it your job to figure out the crap going on in my head?”

“Because I _know_ you, Harry. A lot bloody better than you know yourself sometimes.” He smiled and cupped Harry’s cheeks, thumbs stroking Harry’s temples beneath the arms of his glasses. “I know every delectable last inch of you. Every scar and freckle and line, and yeah, you’re not the same as when we first got together. We’ve _both_ changed in so many ways—”

“You’ve hardly changed at all,” Harry whined.

“How can you say that, Harry? I was a hateful git, with more sodding baggage than the Hogwarts Express, chock full of resentment and bitterness. But that changed. Because of you.” Draco pressed his forehead against Harry’s. “Because of your love, Harry. You loved me unconditionally and you believed in me when no one else did, and that changed me. For the better. And the same goes for you, you’ve changed over the years, you’ve grown too, mellowed out. Not nearly as reckless, and that’s a bloody good thing if you ask me.”

Harry chuckled as Draco went on, “Rarely angry any more, and thank Circe your wild magic has all but stopped. The point is, I love you unconditionally _too_ you great dingbat, the boy you were and the man you became, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.”

Harry swiped at his eyes which had started to prickle. “Even my stodgy tummy, and budding moobs?” He poked his stomach and pouted.

“Especially those,” Draco laughed, “Merlin, you’re cuddlier than ever! What do I need to do, _Evanesco_ those stupid negative ideas in your head?” Draco whirled a finger at Harry’s head.

“I’m just glad you’re not holding your wand, you could have vanished my brain there! And before you say it, yes that might have been an improvement.”

Draco shook his head and rolled his eyes, lips pressed tightly together.

“Right,” Harry said, “Enough psycho-analysing for now, birthday boy. It’s _my_ turn to take care of _you_. What’s it to be? Mouth? Hands? Feet? Arse?”

“Did you say feet?” Draco feigned a mortified look.

“Maybe I’m more open to trying new things than I let on,” Harry laughed.

“I’m filing that one away for later, you harlot! Right now, I _could_ be convinced to allow your expert hands on me while I feel up that _extremely_ sexy body of yours,” Draco smirked devilishly, and Harry grinned.

Harry twisted them round on the sofa, so that he was now straddling Draco. “Thank you for your order, sir. One McWristy coming right up. Would sir like to supersize that?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Draco sniggered and, with that, Harry divested Draco of his swimming briefs and got down to business.

________________

 

Leaves skittered and waltzed across the limestone flagstones of the Manor’s large patio, emerald dancers on a mink grey dancefloor. A cool breeze had just lifted and brought a welcome balm to everyone gathered around the enormous tiered cake. There was a collective sigh of appreciation from the alcohol and sweat-soaked guests. The light wind ruffled Harry’s hair, at least the strands that were not plastered to his forehead, and he smiled, savouring the wave of refreshment it brought.

 _Relief_.

He had been floating on air since returning to the party earlier. Granted, their re-emergence had been greeted with several loud wolf whistles, cheers and off-colour remarks, but Harry couldn’t have given less of a shrivelfig. And granted, the humidity had become even more stifling as the afternoon had worn on, but nothing could dampen the unbridled euphoria he was feeling. Finally, after months of worrying, anxiously fearing that this was it, fated to never again get it up, finally there'd been a breakthrough. Finally, he hoped, the nightmare was over, and, he dared to hope, the _nightmares_ would be over.

He wanted to run from person to person and whoop and kiss them all, throw his arms around them and pull them all into the pool. He tamped down the urge. He was _changed_ Harry now. And that, he realised, was okay. He recalled Draco’s words: _sexier than ever,_ and _unconditional_ and _wouldn’t change a damn thing._ His heart felt twice the size in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever speak again without first declaring how amazing his husband was and how much he adored him.

A shoulder nudged against his. “Oi, Dad. It’s time for your speech. For Father?”

 _Bugger_. His speech. Lying neatly folded by his sun lounger, the parchment weighted down by an empty beer bottle. Too much hassle to summon it now. And it was not as if he'd been overly satisfied with what he'd written anyway.

He’d always hated giving speeches. Too many years of obligations and expectations had jaded him entirely. First after the war, with the droves of remembrance ceremonies and charity campaigns, and later as the Wasps’ captain, expected to motivate and rouse and entertain. Churning out the same old platitudes and trying to make it fresh and convincing and inspirational. The only failsafe he had was to ensure he had some notes to guide him, to stop him from blanking out completely and just staring hopelessly at the expectant faces looking up at him.

Ugh, he'd have to wing it. He glanced at Sirius who was appraising him with a raised eyebrow.

“Everything okay, Dad?”

Harry looked around at his friends milling about the patio, some chatting amongst themselves, some admiring the huge cake he’d ordered from the Covent Garden branch of Choccywoccydoodah, a Muggle supplier that was known to cater for wizards. It _was_ pretty impressive, the cake inside layered with chocolate truffle and enrobed in a Belgian chocolate coating. A painted chocolate Welsh Green dragon perched atop the cake, its wings raised proudly and its tail curled around the three towering tiers upon which were strewn a myriad of sculpted white chocolate _narcissi poeticus_. Thankfully, several cooling and stasis charms had been cast by the caterers, or the whole thing might well have melted into a gooey puddle in the day’s heat.

He looked over at Draco, who was chatting with Luna. As if he felt his gaze, Draco turned his head towards him and they locked eyes. Draco smiled coyly at him, and then returned his focus to Luna. Harry realised he didn’t need his notes, he knew just what to say.

“Yeah, everything’s brilliant, Sirius. Just brilliant.” He ruffled his boy’s hair, idly thinking that the crimson tips quite suited him after all.

Taking a deep breath, Harry cast a mild amplifying charm and addressed the crowd.

“Friends. Thank you all so much for coming to celebrate with Draco and me on the anniversary of his birth. I call it that because saying ‘45th birthday’ just doesn’t sound right, not only because he’s still got the face and body of a 30 year old,”—several people giggled and he heard Sirius groan in embarrassment beside him—“but also because he’s a constant whirlwind of pure and genuine passion and kindness and generosity of spirit.” A ripple of _aawwws_ went through the crowd.

“As it happens, my extraordinarily youthful _older_ husband has today taught me a great lesson about age.” Harry looked into Draco’s eyes, which were regarding him curiously. He cleared his throat. “I’d lately been convinced that my age was a weakness, a barrier, a limitation to things I, er, wanted to do. Draco, clever git that he is, has made me realise that a person's age is something impressive, it—well, it sums up their life, and it changes them.” Harry rubbed his neck, “All the obstacles we’ve overcome over the years, the pain of losing loved ones, the ridiculous prejudices we’ve faced, the risks we’ve taken, all that has changed us. For the better. But we’ve also changed as a result of fathering two amazing boys, from building a life together filled with fun and humour and respect and most of all love.” He glanced at Draco who was nodding his head. “Honestly, the only limitations and barriers are the ones you create in your own head. Well, the ones I’d created in my head.”

A few people clapped and Ginny shouted, “Knew you were mental, Harry!”

Harry laughed, flipping her the finger, “Thanks for that, Gin. Yes, enough about my ‘mental-ness', today is a chance to say, Draco, how fortunate I am to be married to you. You light up every room you enter with your loving, caring, happy, silly, funny, life-of-the-party ways. I’m so proud of you and I love you.” He raised his glass and looked into the glistening eyes of his husband. “Happy Birthday.” Draco blushed and raised his glass in return, eyes blinking rapidly.

Scorpius yelled, “Happy Birthday Father!” and then the crowd joined in with a chorus of whoops and whistles and Happy Birthdays.

Draco laughed and held his hands up. “Wow, okay. Thank you, Harry. And thank you everyone so so much for coming here on this horrifically hot day and helping to make this a really really special party. Now, make sure to make use of the free bar—not right this second, Finnigan, at least wait until I've finished speaking, and by the way vomiting in the pool is strictly forbidden, there's no point giving me that look, you've got form—yes, everyone, keep on enjoying yourselves as much as possible, and don’t forget to take home your complementary vial of my home-brewed hangover potion. It’ll cure what ails ya.” Harry snorted at Draco’s terrible American accent. “Now people, time for cake!” This was met with more cheers, as two of the catering staff emerged with wands raised to carve up the portions.

The afternoon wore on for Harry in a happy dream-like haze and the light breeze brought with it some wispy cloud cover which added to his sense of relief. He floated from person to person accepting well wishes, sipping various fruity cocktails and even shuffling his feet from time to time in a distinctly dad-like fashion whenever a song he liked came on.

He leant against the balustrade that bordered the patio and let the light breaths of wind fortify him. It was then he realised his headache had completely gone, and he wondered when exactly that had happened. As he reflected on the day his thoughts turned to Hugo. Silly boy. Silly, silly Hugo. But, in fairness, he thought, if it hadn't been for him then he and Draco may never have figured this whole thing out.

Before they'd left the billiard room, he and Draco had agreed to speak to Sirius the next day about Hugo. They were concerned about his behaviour and attitude to sex, and thought a conversation from someone around consent, respect and safety might not go amiss. They reasoned that Hugo would be more inclined to listen to his best friend than either of them, or his parents. Ron and Hermione didn't even seem to realise Hugo was gay, much less that he was trying to ‘procure a helping hand' from other guests at the party! Harry had wanted to get it done right away but Draco convinced him the party was not the right time, and he had to agree now, seeing how much fun everyone was having.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Hugo at all since the billiard room incident. He scanned around the crowd for him. Nothing. He saw Blaise though, so he couldn’t be with him. Odd. Shrugging, he made his way over to the bar for another cocktail, bobbing his head to a particularly catchy S Club 7 track.

Two woo-woos later he found himself chatting with Draco, Seamus and Ron about the Quidditch final, when they heard a shriek coming from over by the topiary garden.

“What in the name of Dumbledore’s purple pants was that?” exclaimed Ron. “Sounded like someone pulled up a mandrake.”

“Sounded like a bloody banshee if you ask me,” said Draco.

“Róisín!” realised all four of them at the same time, just in time to see Seamus and Dean’s freckle-faced daughter hurrying from behind a swan-shaped buxus hedge. She had one hand covering her mouth, a cigarette dangling precariously between her fingers, and the other holding a very familiar looking pair of blue swimming trunks emblazoned with three bright orange stripes.

She lowered her hand and clutched her heart, cigarette ash sprinkling onto her purple bikini, “Jaysus, frighta me life!”

“Róisín, what on eart’?” roared Seamus, glaring. “Are ya smokin’? Wait ‘til I tell yer Dad!”

“Shurrup Da,” she dismissed. “Okay lads, do _not_ go back dere.” Noticing the trunks in her hand she gasped and looked behind her, “Shit! I need ta—”

But she was too late. Appearing from behind the beautifully trimmed bush was a vaguely familiar looking blond man in black trousers and a white untucked shirt. He was looking a little dishevelled and seemed to have leaves in his hair.

“Salazar! Anthony fucking Goldstein,” Draco said, “There's a blast from the—”

He stopped short. Another figure was emerging, naked, tattooed and puce-faced, his modesty preserved by what looked to be a branch from the hedge.

“The _buxus_ , how could he?” Draco gasped, horrified, and Harry elbowed him sharply.

Róisín shoved the trunks at Hugo with a “Sorry ‘bout dat Hewgs,” and scurried away.

“Hugo Septimus Granger-Weasley!” Ron was already storming towards him, face like thunder.

“Yikes,” Harry grimaced, watching Ron drag his son off towards the house, Hermione scurrying after them, hair bouncing and gold heels clacking. “I ‘spose that removes the need for our _little chat_ we had planned with Sirius. Although it mightn’t hurt for him to check up on Hugo tomorrow.”

“Anthony fucking Goldstein,” Draco repeated, “Who invited Anthony fucking Goldstein to the party? I haven't seen that tosser in years.”

“I have a feeling he's one of the catering staff,” Harry giggled, “And he wasn't _that_ bad, bit dull I suppose.”

“Well I shall have to have a word with Jacques about his wait-staff shagging the guests because _that_ is going outside the remit.”

The Granger-Weasleys made their excuses not long after that, which was a shame, but also something of a relief to Harry. He didn't envy Hugo the inevitable conversation that was to come, he remembered all too well his own coming-out ‘chat’ with Molly and Arthur and how awkward it had been. He knew Ron and Hermione would be totally cool with Hugo being gay; it was the whole being pretty much caught _in flagrante delicto_ with Anthony fucking Goldstein that would dominate and complicate things.

He did have a discreet word with Sirius about it after Hugo left, and was not particularly surprised at the fact that Sirius was not particularly surprised. Those two had never had any secrets from each other. It did make him wonder how much Sirius knew about the Boxing day incident, but he decided in this case it might be best to adhere to the Hogwarts motto of not tickling sleeping dragons.

The sun was starting to set and hundreds of tiny twinkling lights were coming on around the gardens and pool area.  He spied Draco on the terrace huddled with Teddy, Luna, Neville and Cho. For some reason he was swinging a pair of pink stilettos in one hand. Teddy was clapping him on the back and Draco was giggling.

Next thing Draco was wiggling his feet into the heels and waving his arms to clear a space. _His Dolly Pink Louboutins_ , Harry realised with a lurch, _he’s giving them a demo_. Draco didn't often indulge people; Harry was looking forward to this.

The DJ dropped a new track, and a gravelly voice blared _“I’m too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love, love’s going to leave me”_. Then the music kicked in and Draco snapped into action, striding fiercely to the beat.

Harry couldn’t peel his eyes away. Each stomp of his feet, and accompanying flash of trademark red Louboutin soles, was a jolt to Harry's body. Each twist of his hips as he struck poses made Harry’s mouth water. He swallowed. Draco’s lithe legs and arse worked in unison as the music blared. It sent a pang of greed to his stomach and the back of his neck began to prickle. Harry was taken aback at how much he wanted to taste, to bite those creamy thighs, to feel their smooth texture on his tongue.

As Draco strutted to the beat of the music, lissome legs pumping, a memory floated tantalisingly before Harry's vision: Draco stomping at a fashion show and Harry embracing him afterwards. Spinning him around, pink Loubs and all, Draco breathless and giggling. His world had changed forever on that day, when he found out he was going to be a dad. He could taste the happiness on his tongue, the memory making him salivate. He was riding a wave of intense nostalgia and emotion, when he felt blood rush to his cock, not unlike like a dead arm waking up again, intense and taut and tactile all at once.

Godric’s fucking ringpiece, he was getting another hard on. In broad daylight! And Merlin, he was only wearing skimpy swim briefs. He quickly cast a disillusionment charm on his crotch, excused himself from Pansy and Ginny with a pointed “I love you both, but I urgently need to go fuck my husband, sorry for making things weird.” They acquiesced with gaping mouths and “You go for it, Harry.”

Euphoria clouding his head, he strode purposefully up to Draco who had just completed a fussy turn, tackled him in his mid section and hoisted him clean in the air. He was vaguely aware of people saying things to him but it was drowned out by his overwhelming need to satisfy his hunger.

“Harry! What the fuck?” Draco cried. He swatted at Harry's head but Harry’s primitive instincts had taken over and he could only respond by mouthing Draco's silky legs as he marched him towards the house.

The feel of the velvet skin beneath his lips was at once so intense that Harry Apparated them to their bedroom without even realising. Old Wilkie Twycross of the infamous _Three D’s_ would have been impressed. The only D on Harry’s mind had been the one he was now throwing down on the bed.

“Harry!” Draco cried, “What in the name of—?”

“Draco. I’m gonna fuck you.” Harry said thickly. “Now.”

“What? You mean—?”

“ _Finite Incantatem_.” Harry cancelled the disillusionment charm, and Draco gawped at Harry’s fully hard cock jutting out from his swimming trunks.

“Salazar!” Draco looked unfocused and licked his lips. He shook his head. “But Harry, that’s amazing, the light’s still on. How? What happened?”

“Questions later,” Harry growled. “Need to be in you. Now.”

No sooner had Draco whimpered his assent then Harry was out of his trunks and grabbing to get Draco’s off too. Once they were naked Harry raked his eyes over his husband. He stared, captivated, at Draco’s cock enlarging in front of his eyes. He felt light-headed from the aching need to enter his beautiful body. He looked up at Draco’s face, eyes darkened with _want_.

“Merlin if you could see yourself, Draco,” Harry breathed. “Lie back, I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

Draco hummed with pleasure and lay back on the white sheets. Harry leant in for a quick kiss, swiping Draco’s upper lip with his tongue, then biting gently on his lower. He pulled away, then got off the bed and crouched down on the ground. Draco craned his neck up in confusion but smirked when Harry stood back up with the discarded stilettos in his hand. He carefully placed the baby pink heels onto Draco’s feet and then slid his hands along both legs, hoisting them high and and settling them them on his shoulders.  

“Close your eyes,” Harry said, as he cast non-verbal cleaning and protection charms, causing Draco to shiver slightly. He slipped his hands under Draco’s arse, raised it up to his face, and spread his buttocks apart with his large thumbs. _Gods, what a sight_. He leaned in and licked along the crack of Draco’s arse, tongue lingering on his his hole momentarily, before moving upward to the base of his testicles. He inhaled the familiar musky scent, then breathed out heavily onto the wet skin, eliciting a happy gasp from Draco.

He dropped Draco’s arse back down onto the bed and moved Draco’s legs so that the red shiny soles of his high heels were pressing against Harry’s chest.

Murmuring a lubrication spell, he slipped one finger then two into Draco, gently working and loosening him, revelling in the needy sounds he was making, the squirming of his legs pressing the shoes firmly against Harry's skin .

“Uhh, yesss, Harry, I'm ready, so ready, just fuck me,” Draco urged. Harry already knew he was well primed, his fingers hadn't forgotten the pressure and suction of the inside of his husband, even if his prick had forgotten which way was up for a while. Merlin, yes, he was relaxed enough. He pulled his fingers out and slicked himself up with more lube.

The tip of his cock nudged against Draco’s entrance, and when Draco shunted his body down a little, Harry slid neatly inside. _Heaven_. How long had it been since he'd felt that tight heat around him? He slowly pushed himself all the way in, and both men groaned long and loud.

“Draco. I don't think I can go slow. I'm too fucking—"

“S’fine. Be rough. I want it,” Draco panted.

Grabbing hold of Draco’s ankles, and pressing the soles of the shoes firmly against his upper chest, Harry pulled back and slammed into Draco’s tight hot arse. Pleasure surged through him, as he rolled his hips back and forth, roughly fucking in and out, in and out. Gods what a feeling, he’d missed this so much. He swung his hips relentlessly, gripping Draco’s ankles tightly, and leaning his weight against the pointy heels for leverage, the acute pressure of the spikes heightening the thrill coursing through his nerves and synapses.

He could feel his orgasm starting to build already, which was insane, this was going to be over far too quickly. Not helped by the sight of Draco’s head thrashing around, mindlessly murmuring _HarryHarryHarryHarry_ and stroking his own cock to the rhythm of Harry’s thrusts. Merlin, he was the luckiest man alive to be fucking this graceful creature, to be loved by this perfect man. Pure joy poured into every muscle and fibre in Harry’s body. Every single bit of him sang and buzzed with life and love. Moments later his mind went blank, followed by an intense burst of pleasure as he came powerfully, shouting, “Draco! Oh fuck! Oh fuck.”

He slowed his thrusts as his orgasm subsided, legs trembling as the pulsing weakened, and watched Draco’s blissed out face as he continued stroking himself. Harry pulled out and Draco opened his eyes.

“Stop,” Harry ordered. Draco’s hand stilled.

“What did you have in mind?” asked Draco, arching an eyebrow.

“Turn over,” Harry grinned wickedly, “On all fours.”

Draco inhaled sharply. “Fuck. Okay.” As soon he moved position, come started to leak out and dribble down his legs.

“Merlin, look at you,” Harry said in awe, “That’s giving me such a thirst.”

Harry traced his fingers over the constellation inked on Draco’s left arse cheek. Then he bent down and began carefully licking his own come from Draco’s legs, working his way up slowly, pausing occasionally to hum and mumble, “I fucking love you,” and “Gods, these legs.” Draco sighed in pleasure, and when Harry’s tongue finally arrived at his arse, he dropped down onto his elbows to give him access.

Harry heart sped up in anticipation of devouring Draco’s arse, and saliva pooled in his mouth. He reached around and grasped Draco’s penis, and began pumping it slowly as he flattened his tongue and slid it around the juicy pink skin of Draco’s arsehole, lapping up as much come as he could.

He had promised to make this good for Draco and he was bloody well determined to make him see stars. Encouraged by by Draco’s delirious moans, he continued swirling his tongue around his hole and his perineum and stroked his cock faster. Draco pushed back into Harry’s face, and Harry unexpectedly spaced out into a reverie: He was sucking a luscious tangy peach, dripping with nectar, sap running down his face, unable to quench his thirst. Still his hand glided rhythmically over velvety hardness. Still he gorged on the soaking peach. Minutes passed in this way until Harry’s brain became dimly aware of Draco crying out and pulling away from him.

He scrambled up the bed to lie next to where his husband was breathing heavily, face in the pillow.

“Hey,” Harry whispered, stroking the back of Draco’s neck.

Draco turned to him, purring, “Salazar’s grace, that was so good. So so good.” He squinted at Harry. “Merlin, the state of your face! And your hair. You’re covered.”

“You’ll just have to lick it clean, Draco,” Harry winked.  

“Not bloody likely,” Draco laughed, grabbing his wand.

Harry winced at the cleaning charm that came his way. “Gods, Draco! Warn a guy!

“Sorry, darling. I’ve always said you produce _quite_ an unreasonable amount of come, far beyond the limits of acceptability or fairness.”

“Yeah well you don’t need to tell me, I’ve just slurped down a gallon of it.”

Harry burped loudly, emphasising his point.

“Charming,” Draco deadpanned. “Seriously though Harry, that was so fucking great. You know, I’m honestly just so happy you were able to get hard, without the whole darkness thing. What brought that on, do you think?”

Harry smiled. “I know exactly what brought that on. It was you. Sexy, beautiful, vivacious you.” Harry reached out and brushed some damp hair away that had been stuck to Draco’s forehead. “And those incredible pink heels helped a bit. Quite a bit, actually. Made me remember some of the old days when you first started modelling.”

“They were good times, eh?” Draco smiled fondly. “Hard work, though. Back then we didn’t have everything half as easy as we do now. We have time now, with you not off training or playing matches all the time. And I’m not getting as many bookings any more. More time to relax, and enjoy our boys, and our friends, and _each other_.”

“Yeah, too much bloody time now to dwell on silly things like a bit of a podgy tum,” Harry chuckled, “Hang on, I’ve just realised, just now, I mean before, and while we were shagging, the whole time, I didn’t once think of my body or worry that I wouldn’t be able to perform. Like, before today I’d have been worrying, and that—that would just end up making me feel ashamed and I just, I just wasn’t able to—”

“You’ve been amazing today, Harry. And I hope you’ve realised you don’t _need_ to worry about those things. Not with me.” Draco gave Harry’s hip an affectionate squeeze.

“Oi watch the muffin-top!” Harry joked. “No, honestly, I have realised that, Merlin, at least I think I have. I really hope I’ve conquered this. Because, Godric, if I haven’t missed fucking your pretty arse.”

“Harry!” Draco laughed. “I love you too, you big grizzly bear.” Draco squirmed out of the way of Harry’s kick, and fell off the bed with a thump.

“Shit, are you okay, babe?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself from laughing. He jumped up to help Draco off the floor, who had also succumbed to a fit of the giggles.

He pulled him into a tight hug, burrowing his face in Draco's hair, and inhaling his warm scent.

“I love you, Draco,” he whispered.

Draco hummed into Harry's neck and kissed him beneath his ear. “And I love _you_. Any way at all. Even if all I could do for eternity was lie naked beneath the sheets and listen to your heart beating, it would be enough.”

Harry pulled back and caressed Draco's cheek, tracing the angles and lines. “Who'd have thought that obnoxious bratty kid I met in Madam Malkins thirty odd years ago, would turn out to be the sweetest and most important person in my life, and could melt my heart into a puddle with a single sentence like that.” He pressed his thumb to Draco's bottom lip, feeling the soft skin, and then replaced it with his own lips, kissing him tenderly, warm and chaste and sweet.

“You did say you thought I was cute back then,” Draco teased when Harry broke the kiss.

Their foreheads pressed together as Harry laughed, “Trust you to remember that drunken admission from my 18 year old self. Yes, okay, you were cute. A _cute_ obnoxious brat.”

“I'll take that,” Draco smirked playfully kissing Harry on the nose and squeezing his bum.

“You know, I think it’s time we returned to our guests,” said Harry. “I’m pretty sure I made a bit of a scene out there. In fact I _may_ have announced I was off to fuck you.”

“Harry, you didn’t!” Draco was aghast. “Well, let’s hope they didn’t all leave in a fit of pique at the improper behaviour of their hosts. I’m sure the Prophet would love _that_ story.”

“There was a free bar, don’t forget. I’m sure they’ll have stuck around.”

As if on cue, a shout pierced the air, followed by a clamour of voices ostensibly objecting to something. Harry and Draco quickly donned their swimming shorts and ran to the window.

Draco opened the window and they both looked down onto the pool area. A small crowd was amassing around a figure lying face down at the edge of the pool. A figure with tiny red bats flapping on their black swimming trunks.

“What the devil—?” Draco exclaimed.

“Merlin! That’s disgusting!” someone was shouting.

Harry's eyes were drawn to a beige speckled substance floating on the surface of the pool.

 “Not _again_ , Finnigan!!!” Draco bellowed.

Seamus lifted his head and arm slowly and looked up at the window. “Happy birtdee, Draco. Smashin’ party.”

Draco turned to Harry. “Never again. He’s not coming to another party here. Unconscionable, disorderly, uncivilised, ill-mannered, boorish—”

“Aaw but you see, darling… I’ve already invited him over for my 45th party next month.”

This time it was Draco’s turn to tackle Harry to the ground.

 


End file.
